Wednesday, May 22, 2013

18. New Territory – it’s another thing entirely.


        Do you know how to give a cat a shot? There’s a trick to it. I learned it from a vet when I was a teenager. Know how they like to have their faces rubbed, harder than you’d expect? How you can cup your hand over their whole face and almost rough them up with it? It’s very similar to that. You pretty much grab them gently by the head, from the front, and shake. The cat will kind of like it and be kind of confused, and will have not the slightest clue that someone’s giving it a shot, while it happens. This is because cats can only think about one thing at a time. If you overwhelm their senses with one thing, you leave them with no attention remaining for anything else. To say that I am not good at multi-tasking would be a drastic understatement. It would be closer to accurate to say that I’m a cat. I’m not just bad at doing two things at once, I’m virtually incapable. Honestly, given what you’ve read here previously, you’d assume that the sixty-nine would be one of my all-time favorite activities, wouldn’t you? A cock in my mouth with a mouth on my pussy? Nope. Can’t do it. Can’t do it at all. When I’m in a sixty-nine I’m in one of two states: I’m wrapped up in the blow job and giving no response whatsoever to  – disregarding even – the cunnilingus, or if I want to know what’s happening between my legs, I have to stop sucking the cock in order to even feel it, much less enjoy it and have any chance of getting anywhere near orgasm from it. It’s inconvenient, yes, but that’s beside the point of the other night. The point of the other night is that the fact that my husband had had his fingers in my pussy while I’d been giving him head, meant that my body was in a place that my head didn’t know about.
  I had been lying sideways, perpendicular to him, playing the early erection game initially, then following with the ice cream on the spoon thing, gently sucking and licking at the head of his cock while I had it trapped against his stomach. I was basically settled into the preliminaries of a leisurely, indulgent, wanton and wicked blow job. I was occupied. Meanwhile, because I was sideways, he had access to the good parts and his hand had travelled. I knew he was touching me; It was a pleasant sensation at the fringes of my consciousness, but I was busy. What I didn’t comprehend at the time was that he was engaged in a leisurely, indulgent, wanton and wicked fingering of my pussy. And though my brain was otherwise absorbed, my pussy was responding on its own.
Eventually, I shifted up and away from his hand, so that I could get a better angle on the rising seriousness of the cock sucking, so that I could shift grip and pressure and speed and deep throat the ever loving fuck out of him, but in doing so, I created a pause. In that pause, despite the excitement of being about to take this thing to the next level, all the pleasure he’d been caressing into my pussy finally found the way to my brain open and unrestricted. I was suddenly aware of and staggered by the heat and the swell of my labia and my clit, by the wet spread of myself, that sensitive bloom, just in time to feel the last pads of his fingertips slip over me, up the crack of my ass and away. Is there a vulnerability greater than that? Where the willing desire of the body and the willing desire of the mind conspire to show you just how true it is that at that moment you would do anything, anything at all? And yet I had just removed myself from his touch. He could no longer reach me and it was my fault. Self-imposed denial is a delicious mind-fuck, and I set about showing his cock exactly what kind of anything I was desperate for.
Think about the wash of saliva that a buried cock draws from the deepest part of your throat. Are there men in the world who are immune to that? Who can watch it come off your lips on the upstroke and feel it fall all over their own rigid prick without an involuntary audible response? I’m sure there are, but I hope not, nonetheless. There’s a deep satisfaction that comes from coaxing that sound out of my husband. I was there in that space, and deliberately trying to bring him to the state in which he simply can’t take it any longer, can’t help himself, and his passion is suddenly evident in his need to get his hands on me – the grab and capture, the forcible pulling of my body to him, the manual override of him putting me onto his cock instead of putting his cock into me. He had his hands hard on my hips and his cock flexed high inside me (yes, make it tall like that), and I came on him with the flushing body ripple of the vaginal orgasm. I will never get bored of the #2, and usually I either double up right there or follow it with a brief switch to a different motion or position and then go back for another, but that didn’t happen this time…
My theory is that it had to do with the early, sneaky stimulation of my pussy that had caught up to me with such effect, because I didn’t do a damn thing differently. All I know is that out of nowhere I was in the middle of a g-spot orgasm. And then another, and another, and another. Somewhere in the middle I tried to back off and take a breath, but the only effect the respite from girl-cumming had was to trigger another vaginal climax and then I was right back where I’d started. I have said before that the #3 can sometimes go on and on and on like this, but I have never had so many right on top of each other, in my life. I estimate it was somewhere around five or six bajillion, before they stopped being separate orgasms and started being one extraordinary endless one. And then something else happened that had never happened before. I have described orgasm #4, the ass fucking orgasm, as being like orgasm numbers 2 and 3 at the same time. This is when I found out I was wrong about that. Really, really wrong.
It was during the awe-inspiring endless one. I was just pouring come all over my husband in a continuing flood, and I began to feel the familiar climb to an inevitable vaginal climax. My attention may have been split earlier in the evening but it was acutely undivided now. This was new territory. Remember the discussion of the hyper-sensitive pussy? I was right back there, and feeling every sensation of one orgasm continuing while another kind rose. At the same time, my clit was underwater, sliding all over my husband’s stomach in a growing pool of my own come and the hot, wet stimulation of that on top of the ongoing g-spot orgasm I was already enduring, led to the hardest, most intense vaginal orgasm I have ever experienced. I’ll grant you that orgasm #4 may be like a combination of #2 and #3, but for the first time ever, I have now had two different types of orgasm at the same time, and I can assure you that it’s another thing entirely.
As it subsided, I didn’t have time to say more than “Holy shit!” before my husband threw me back down onto his cock. Fuck it, I didn’t need air anymore; I had become a creature no longer dependent on breath. I was sucking my come off of his cock and relishing that involuntary wash of saliva and then I was also drinking his come as his climax happened against the roof of my mouth… By the time I was lying flat on my back next to him, I was dripping wet from my face to my knees. Sweat, spit, boy-cum, girl-cum, tangible moonlight, altered consciousness, sleep.


(This really might be my favorite song in the world.)

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